Hummingbird
by Redmoon124
Summary: A/u. Boston. China. Time. 1920's. Maura is Mobster Paddy Doyles daughter. Conforming to a life set out. Secrets, lies. Her world is one she has very little control over.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer.  Strangest thing. I still don't own them. They belong to their rightful creators. However this story is mine. I borrow the characters only. No profit. No nice awards where I get to say.. _''Thank you, god. Thank my cat, my fish. With out whom this wouldn't have been written. They motivate me. Okay not motivate, they totally ignore me, but I'd like to think they'd be impressed if they could read.''_

Nope no rights what so ever. I borrow with care. Although you're probably not going to like what I do with them for a while.

Rating. M. This is same sex couples. If it isn't your thing, please move on to pastures you prefer. There is also male, female sex in this. So again age restriction advised.

A/U. For those that don't know what that means it's an alternate universe. Or time-line. Once upon a time it was known as uber. Where the characters you love are transferred away from the series you know them for and placed in stories. This time-line is Nineteen Twenties. Boston. China.

**Warning.** This is a pretty dark story. Involving certain situations that may cause triggering. Drugs, alcohol. The nasty side. Some readers might not like it or feel comfortable. I do not use these things lightly, nor for grand dramatic effect. I am a writer, therefore sometimes my bard takes me to the dark side. As always I aim to be as true to a character and a situation as possible.

I have researched, but I am not a historian. So if I get a date or event wrong, please accept my apologies. However all the places, ships, cities, hotels, all existed. I love art noire films. I hope to do them justice.

Okay, enough rambling. Enjoy.

* * *

蜂鳥

Hummingbird

_Boston. 1922._

''What's got your attention?''

His voice whispers, stirring her mind away from watching outside the small window. She breathes deeply taking in the rustic scent of rain, mixing with the musk of cologne, perfume, sex. Their scent, one that fills the empty spaces. Turning her head to look over her shoulder. Pulling her knees closer, resting her cheek as she looks at him. Taking in the scene, a moment of time frozen in her gaze. Light is low, shadows and edges blurred, distinction of furniture hazy. The bed the brightest point, white linens, silver frame reflecting the oil lamps. Dreadful red flowered wallpaper its background. But there in the centre, alive, breathing, him. Blonde hair, smiling blue eyes. An eyebrow raised, waiting for her answer.

She smiles, inhaling again. ''The rain.''

He draws in a long inhale of cigarette, entrails of smoke escaping in his laugh. It's deep rumbling like warning thunder before a storm. ''It doing anything interesting?''

She doesn't answer, used to his teasing. She is used to all of him now. In this place they have discovered many things. This is their world within this room, beyond it doesn't exist in these stolen hours. There is only lust, want, need. No promises, no commitments. An affair, nothing more. She turns to look out the window again. Lost in thoughts, the outside world intruding.

''You'd rather be over there?''

His voice breaks into her silence, knowing he has sensed her change in mood. She looks over to him again. A smile twitching, as he pulls back the sheet, exposing all. Smiling unashamed at his own nakedness. Her eyes flicker over his body, appreciating the defined muscles, broad chest. The perfect specimen of a man. She turns her head back to look outside, already feeling the beginning pinpricks of want.

''Maura. Come here... I'll make it rain.''

Her eyes flutter closed, exhale a puff. The flush of arousal is instant. Heart rate increasing, breathing low, deep. A bodies response to lust. It is enough, yet it isn't. It doesn't touch any where deeply enough to matter. But it touches enough too feel the need of want, breaking through this oblivion of nothing.

She takes a deep breath, eyes blinking open. Unfurling her legs, she rises, anticipation making her throb. But she represses it, taking her time. Reaching to push open the window a little more; the coolness of evening entering, awakening goosebumps on her skin. Watching for a moment the lives of others outside this room, all unaware of what is about to take place. They are ants, scurrying, circling, living.

She watches for a breath more before turning to walk towards him. Not blushing once as his eyes drag slowly over every inch of her approaching naked form, his body already responding. The power of seeing it, hearing it, spikes her arousal high enough now to not care there is only one emotion behind this act.

She leans one knee on the mattress, taking the cigarette from his hand. Inhaling a long draw, holding the smoke in her mouth, before stubbing it out in the ashtray. His eyes are hawks watching. She blows the smoke in his face, making him blink. He reaches for her. She shakes her head. His hands drop. She scratches nails across his chest, the touch hitching his breathing. She feels the thrill she always does when he so easily responds. She scratches harder, watching his abs flex. Trailing her hand lower, down across the fine line of hairs that lead the way to his already straining need. She knows the human body, knows where to touch, how too tease, seduce, it is simple mechanics. She cups him, enjoying the hiss escaping from his lips, like a snake issuing a warning. She is the snake charmer keeping him hypnotised.

She knows he's holding himself back, the effort rippling his muscles, making him twitch in her hand. She moves fully, straddling him. Sitting, hand behind stroking him. She spreads her legs, moving her wet heat across his stomach, humming as his muscle tighten, giving her more friction. Watching, listening. His moan escapes as she runs her thumb over his tip. Her own body responding as he bucks. She dips, capturing his mouth in a frenzied kiss, tasting the smoke, the illegal whiskey. His hands now trailing touches across her skin, cupping her breasts until the peaks are ridged against his fingers. They move, desperate, fighting against each other. Sounds echoing. She shifts, removing her hand from around him. Bringing it forward to place on his chest, pushing palm down until she feels his expanding ribcage and the grunt of air. She slides, laying her body a top his, all the right places touching. It's going to be fast, hurried and she welcomes it.

He strains up to kiss her, but she turns her head away, instead biting down on his shoulder, only letting go when his hand pulls her hair hard. She smirks, biting at any where there is skin. This is the game they play. Limbs entangle, bodies sliding with sweat. This is primal, a need, nothing more. He groans, flipping them until she is beneath, legs opening. As he pushes into her, eyes slam shut, body arching, the sudden intrusion ripping a sound from her throat. Hands clench the sheets into fists, trying to breath through his fullness, too adjust. But she doesn't have time as he grinds downward. Moaning louder as he plunges deeper, faster, harder. In this place she gives her sounds freedom, outside in her other life she is silent. She moans again as he changes the angle, rubbing now on the place that sparks electricity with every thrust. Tendrils of fire licking at her skin.

Her wrists are grabbed, shoved high above her head, held. Stretching her body, opening her wider. His thrusts turn frenzied, unkempt. Her mouth opens, head pushed back into the pillow, rising up just as frenzied to meet. Slap of flesh is heard, the bed rocks with the force of them. One long hard surge has her stilling, frozen in an arch. The gasp that comes from her is escaping air... World turns to brightness, vibrant, burning, muscles clench. He is shuddering within, above. Breathing hot against her neck. Stillness, a moment, a moment where they feel free, alive, something.

Then it is broken as he collapses, a weight that suffocates. Her wrists are released as he rolls off, limp withdrawing. Turning his back, laying close but miles away. His breathing is raw gulps, body quivering. No touch now, there never is. No whispered words of love, no arms to encase and keep safe. Those would be the bigger lies. She stares at the ceiling, chest heaving, breathing erratic. She knows every crack in the white above, every ripple of paint. Because this is the time they cannot bare to look at each other and see how pathetic they are, how lost, how alone.

This is how they fuck, to escape the people they have become. Each wanting something, anything more than what they have. Searching for the unobtainable. To go beyond the lives they lead where they are emotionless drones conforming, obeying family, society. Trapped in glided cages. They do this, this... to feel, be more. But it always ends this way, laying in stillness of failures. Leaving both more empty than when this all began all those months ago. A meeting at a dinner party. Where eyes locked and each saw their own reflection of the same nothing of life, the repetitive boredom. It led to this... These brief moments of escape, where they feel, where they are alive. Sparking with fire that melts the encasement of ice they have entombed themselves in. But it is never enough. Because the truth is waiting outside the room. The fire of lust always turns to ash, bitter in their throats.

She rolls onto her side. Mirroring pose of self isolation. Drawing the sheet up and over. Hating the feeling of stickiness between her legs, another brand of failure. His seed is useless inside her. Reaching down, wiping the sheet until the evidence is removed. She turns her head into the pillow, eyes focused on the window, the grey of sky outside. Hearing his breathing even out. Her own eyes close. She is in the place of in-between, everything fading. Everything except the sound of rain.

…..

She watches as he ties his shoes, the brown cap against the white on his taps. He is like her in this way, expensive clothing is a shield. Showing a glimpse of colour caged within. She smooths down her dress, adjusting the buttons at the collar to bring out the perfect symmetry. Watching him in the reflection of the mirror, as he moves around the room, collecting his things. She takes one last look at her own image, satisfied that it is flawless before turning. ''I won't be coming here again.''

He stops, one arm in his jacket. ''What?''

''This is the last time.'' Even to her, her voice is cold.

''Why?''

He isn't annoyed or hurt, simply confused. She watches as he pulls the jacket fully on. She looks away, not understanding why the action makes her feel sadness. ''Garrett has been given a position in China.''

This time it's surprise she sees.

''China? Are you joking?''

She opens her bag, checking she has all her make-up. Looking around until she finds her cigarette case. Moving to get it. ''No. We leave next week.''

He steps close, too close. She steps back. This is not the rules. When they are dressed there is no them. She searches his face, seeing now concern.

''Maura, China isn't a place for a Western woman. Haven't you read the news, the revolution going on over there? The epidemics?''

Anger peaks. ''What am I supposed to do! Say no?''

He sighs heavily. Reality battering him as much as it is her. She has no choice, no say. She is a wife, to follow. A daughter, to obey. He steps back, sitting on the edge of the bed. ''Christ.''

''Garret has been made trade consultant of Shanghai. I very much doubt we will be near any of it.'' She checks the lobe of each ear, frowning as she finds an earring missing. She moves away from him to the bed, lifting the pillows.

''When did you know about this?''

She pauses in her search. ''My father informed me two weeks ago.'' Her attention goes back to the sheets, pulling them free. Using the action to relieve the anger spiking, remembering exactly how her father told her. Like she was nothing, a slave to obey, chattel. She spots the twinkle of diamonds, grabbing it. Returning the earring to its place in her lobe. Walking passed him to check in the mirror the gem is straight.

''And you wait till now to tell me? Jesus, Maura.''

Her eyes flicker to his in the mirror. ''Would it have mattered if I had told you sooner?''

''I.. '' His head shakes. ''We could have...''

She laughs bitterly, turning. Resting back against the bureau, crossing her arms. ''Have what? Run away together?''

''Is it so ridiculous an option? I have money.'' He voice is indignant.

Her laughter fades. He means it. A rush of affection warms her but she quickly pushes it away. ''We wouldn't get very far. My father would find us and even if he didn't, the scandal to your family would destroy them.''

''My family would survive.''

She sighs. ''They might. But your medical career would be ruined. So stop... You know as well as I do. What we have isn't any thing more than this room. Please don't pretend otherwise.''

He shrugs. ''I'm a better option than cholera or getting your throat slit.''

She smiles, stepping a little closer. Laying fingertips on his shoulder. Another rule breaking. ''Thank you for your concern.'' When he reaches for her hand, she removes her touch, stepping away. ''…. I very much doubt my father would send me somewhere I'd die. I am an asset he wouldn't so easily throw away.'' There isn't a lot left she hasn't done to get what her father wanted.

Anger flicks across his face. ''Garrett just agreed to this? Taking you, himself to a place thousand of miles away? He's the biggest coward I know.''

She doesn't even bother to defend her husband, it would be a lie to do so. ''He does what he's told. He always has.'' S_o do I_. Is unsaid.

He cards fingers through his hair, eyes desperate as he looks up. ''Damn it. This isn't fair. What the hell does Doyle want in China?''

''To be clichéd, life isn't fair. …... My father wants what he always wants, more power, more money. Now America has a stake in China, Patrick wants one too. He's called in favours to get Garrett into this position. So I would imagine it is something with an extremely high profit.''

He shakes his head again. ''Opium? Guns?''

''I've told you before do not ask questions. It is safer.'' Irritation makes her snap.

He snorts. ''Right, because fucking Doyle's daughter has been a totally safe thing to do.''

She stiffens, a confusing sting of hurt at his words. ''Believe me, if he knew, you'd already be regretting it.''

His gaze holds apologies. His voice resigned. ''How long will you be there?''

She shrugs. ''Until my father gets what he wants.''

He nods. ''I can't help you with the rebels, or some chink who wants a white woman as a trophy. But I can help guard you against the diseases... As much as you think you know about medicine you don't know one thing about what is over there... Don't eat uncooked food.'' his eyes come up, serious. ''Don't drink unboiled water. Don't go near anyone you do not know. Most of the contamination is spread by infection, bacterial. In the water supply, in the sick. Breath, sweat... Stay away from it, Maura.''

She swallows the sudden emotion. She'd doubted he cared, but this tells more than the sex they had just shared. It also tells her this is the right time to end this. ''I will.''

He shakes his head. ''I doubt it. You have a tendency for collecting stray dogs.'' He smirks, but the sadness still weeps in his gaze.

Her laugh is a surprising lump in her throat. ''You were never a stray dog. You're far well to groomed.''

His laugh is just as pained. Brushing down his tailored suit. ''I do clean up nice don't I?''

She smiles. ''Yes.''

The honesty in this moment is more than they have ever had between them. Their eyes hold. For once neither of them see any thing other than the truth. An acceptance of fates hand dealt.

She looks away, unable to bear this sudden closeness between them. ''I'm sorry... I must go... '' She lifts her coat, moving to the door. Breaking another rule, he is the one to leave first. But this time, she wants to be. At least she will have control of something. ''I have...'' She bites her lip. Meeting his sad eyes. ''The time here with you, has been a haven I will miss terribly... I will... I will miss you. Goodbye Ian. Be safe.''

He stands, calling her name. She doesn't wait to know. She turns quickly opening the door and stepping away. Away from the haven, the warmth of him. Back into the cold. She is already preparing, the memory erasing with every step downward. Moving down the stairs faster than she should in the heels she is wearing.

She bursts out into the street, the light momentarily blinding. Turning down the side-alley, passed the putrid smell of garbage from the hotel kitchens. Her senses filling with it. Walking faster towards the main street. She has this timed perfectly, the street car just stopping not far from her. As she steps up onto it, the moisture she palms away from her face she tells herself is rain. As she sits, turning unseeing gaze out the window. She becomes one of the ants, scurrying, circling, living, nothing more.

* * *

Tbc


	2. Chapter 2

_See Chapter One for disclaimers.  
_

* * *

_Chapter Two._

_蜂鳥_

_Shanghai. 1923._

She sips the Gin Rickey cocktail, enjoying the sweetness and zest of lime on her tongue. _No prohibition here._ She takes a longer sip, licking her lips as she places the glass down. Taking a cigarette from the silver case, lighting it, blowing smoke to the side. Gaze going around the Astor house ballroom. She likes it, the light blue of the walls decorated with maidens and sylphs dancing. The domed ceiling with the suspended lighting system, candelabras every few feet apart. Large wooden fans spotted in-between, constantly turning, pushing cool air downward. Marble pillars lining the walkways, each cast in female figures arms stretched upward, giving the appearance of holding up the roof. The centre piece a large peacock patterned shell, turquoises and eyes vibrant, housing the eight piece orchestra.

The music playing is a piece she hasn't heard. It's catchy, mixing the new age jazz with an under beat of the orient. Finding it amusing that no-one on the dance floor knows yet quite how to dance to it. She lifts her drink again, sipping. Crossing her legs, letting her foot bounce gently to the rhythm. Enjoying the atmosphere around. Everything about Shanghai has been a surprise. Nineteen days of voyage had left her bored and inpatient. Even the luxury on the 'Asamu Maru' did little to tame either.

She inhales, lips thinning, smoke escaping on a wisp.

Garret had been insufferable during the whole sea crossing, moaning about every little thing. The truth of it was he was terrified to come here, take up the role her father had set for him. In ten years of marriage she has learnt not to give in to his tantrums and had long ago stopped even caring. The role of wife, was exactly that, an act. A marriage arranged when she was eighteen. Garrets family needed money, her father needed a senator in his pocket. Garret and her sealed the deal. Like most things in her life, it's just another farce. To the outside world they are the perfect couple, the story behind closed doors is far different. They can barely stand each other. The enclosed journey had only reminded her of that fact.

She'd spent as much time as she could away from him. Retreating to the deck to read all she could about China. The language she found was exceedingly difficult, five different dialects. She could speak French, Russian, German and Italian. Languages came easily, but even she was struggling to learn this one. The language wasn't the only thing difficult, the people living here had a class system, one to Westerners and Europeans was shocking to see. If she thought she knew slavery and poverty existed before, she was sorely wrong.

The first day off the ship showed her exactly what the truth of it was. This wonderful ancient country was in turmoil, cultures clashing. The old ways fighting to continue while the new age was being born biting and screaming into the world. Leaving the population torn in two. To make matters worse, the rest of the world now wanted a piece of China too. Russian immigrants had flocked here after the revolution, trying to find a home. But they brought with them the Bolshevik politics. Communism was spreading fast, giving the millions of lower class workers a voice, a reason to fight. She didn't blame them at all. Two months living here and she still can't stomach seeing a lower class Coolie beaten because they broke a cup.

She smooths down her dress, signalling to the waiter for another drink. Eyes going to the rich textiles hanging. Seeing beyond it, its true meaning. Understanding Shanghai for what it really is, an illusion. Beneath the colours, the life of the city, under the ribbons of gold, runs a vein of darkness. Hidden out of sight, kept away. But she sees, she sees because she's lived with it her whole life. Doyle's world.

She takes the drink, a nod of thanks. licking the edge of the glass to catch the salt. She didn't want illusions. So she had adventured away from the safe places to find the truth, and god, did she find it.

Her lips tremble as she places the cigarette between them. Remembering the East quarter of the city, it had actually made her vomit, Poverty, disease, starvation. Ian's warning didn't even come close to preparing her. The districts left to decay were a far cry to where she sat now. The tableware a lone was worth more than ten Coolies. Everything had a price here, either to buy, use or sell. Including people. It was never more prominent how different cultures could be in a place like Shanghai and it was never more so how much she hated where she came from. Because it was men like her father who fed on places like this, thrived on the misery, exploited it. China really didn't stand a chance against such corruption. What is worse, she is part of it. Her own self disgust out weighs the hate she holds for any of them.

Even though she knows how corrupt this place is, every nation trying to get the biggest chunk. She's found a sense of freedom here she's never had before. She doesn't doubt Doyle has men watching. But she doesn't have the same sense that everyone is. It has let her do things she wanted to and she has. The parts of the city which do welcome outsiders, she's visited. Gardens... Temples; they gave her a moment of tranquillity. With a guard she even dared to venture out to the countryside and spent a day just admiring the breathtaking scenery, beauty, the peace of it. She wasn't a fool to believe any of the villagers or people she saw welcomed her. But most of the inhabitance were excepting, especially in this part of the city. The large marketplace in its centre, thrives on the money people like her bring. The people are fierce, loyal to their honour, but at the same time they hold a gentleness about the world, nature. A simplicity of life, she envy's. Even if they don't trust, or like her. She has found she likes them. She has found China quite fascinating.

She startles as the music changes to a loud show number. The sudden clash of cymbals making her heart thump. 'Happy Feet.' starts in full gusto. Professional dancers entering in a chorus line, with legs kicking. She takes a long breath, stubbing out the cigarette with force, irritated she'd let her mind escape. She checks her watch, annoyance rising, Garret is late. She signals the waiter to bring another drink, at least she can disappear in the numbness of alcohol. There are lots of things here to disappear into.

The air shifts. she doesn't have to turn to know it is Garrett, his cologne reached her before he did. She shows no response as he pulls the chair out, sitting.

"I'm late, I know. So don't start."

She keeps her gaze on the Chinese acrobat troupe now taking the dance area. Admiring the costumes, bright silks of colour.

"Aren't you even going to pretend you're interested in where I've been all day?"

She sips her fourth cocktail. Immaculate red nails drumming on the table, the only sign of irritation. "To pretend would be the same as lying..." She turns her head to look at him. Noting the glazed eyes, flush to the cheeks. The heavier scent surrounding him. She tuts in disgust. "Really Garrett, if you are going to take opium you could at least change your clothes. You stink of it."

He takes his anger out on the waiter bringing his drink. A curse of thanks, aimed. Glaring back at her as he drinks. "Like you give a shit what I do."

She stands to leave. She does not need another night of arguments in public. "Good night, Garret."

"I got a telegram from Paddy."

She stills, eyes flashing to him. His face holds a thin film of sweat. Sighing, she sits. "Which by the look of it was not good news."

He snorts into the whiskey. "When is it ever." He downs the drink, already signalling for another.

She waits, knowing he'll tell her when he has enough liquid courage. She watches the complete set of the acrobats. Even applauding at the finish. But she is distracted, her thoughts on the telegram. They hadn't heard anything from Paddy. She knew Garret sent updates and reports about whatever he was up to. She suddenly realises she's made the mistake of getting used to her father not being a daily intrusion. She'd felt free, another mistake. Her eyes shift up as the orchestra starts up again, Strauss waltzes. The floor begins to fill with dance partners.

Finally Garret talks. "He wants us to go up river to near Chungking."

She flicks at the ash on the table cloth, as it falls from her cigarette. "For what purpose?"

"General Travis has extended an invitation for us to stay next weekend for a garden party."

Suspicion peaks. She takes a long draw of smoke, letting it escape on a sigh. "How terribly British... So what is the real reason?"

His eyes dart around. Satisfied no one is bothering to listen, he shifts closer. "He has total control of what comes in and what goes out of the docks in Shanghai."

She rolls her eyes. Exhaling smoke again. "I don't see why I need to be anywhere near the part where you bribe him to look the other way."

He sits back, eyes travelling over her body. She resists the urge to dump her drink in his lap. Her fingers twitch around the glass.

"John Travis is fifty-two-years old. Career army, retired. He now holds the position of head of the port authority. Respected by everyone. Christian pillar of society. Gives to Missionary's, nuns. He's so honourable it's actually quite sickening. He's kept out of the corruption and politics in Shanghai. Can't be bribed. Honey."

Eyes narrow. "You call me honey one more time." She pushes her stiletto hard into his ankle as a warning.

He yelps, sitting back. "Jesus. Fine. China's made you more bitchy than usual... Christ." He rubs at his shin. "Travis, thinks I'm interested in selling rice direct to America. I've asked for his help in setting up local trade."

She snorts. "Rice? Really?"

He shrugs.

She frowns. Something not making sense. "You could have told me this at our house... Why ask me to meet you here?"

He grins. Head turning, nodding to the far corner of the ballroom. She follows his gaze. Seeing a group of young people, laughing, drinking.

"That hon..." Her glare makes him choke to a stop. He clears his throat. "The tall handsome blonde one... Looks like a young god."

She easily sees who he means. He does look like Apollo.

"That is Travis's only son, Matthew."

She stiffens, not liking at all where this is going. "Get to the point."

"Tomorrow he leaves for England. On his way to Sandhurst, Officer commission. Got a girl all lined up to marry when he turns twenty-one..." He sucks on the cigar, blowing the thick smoke into the air. "Matthew, has such a bright future ahead of him, would be a shame for a scandal to ruin it."

Coldness sweeps. Her hand tightens on the glass. The other on the cigarette, the pressure denting it. She stubs it out. Ducking her head to just breath. Her voice low. "Blackmail... You're not serious?"

"Patrick is... I've done my work. Now it's your turn."

She swallows hard. Laugh a spit of venom. "I'm to do what exactly? Get him in a compromising position?"

"Won't be the first time it has worked or the last... . I've got the room all set up. Just needs you to work your magic."

Her palm itches to slap him, so much so she can actually feel the burn of it in her hand. "Really, Garret. You think anybody is going to care an unmarried young man is having sex with someone? Especially here in Shanghai? " She takes a long drink, trying to get the rank taste out of her mouth.

He chuckles, sitting back. "Here in Shanghai? Oh no. But in Good ole England where he is going. They don't care if it's kept behind closed doors. But bring it to the surface, exposed. The upper class really don't like it. Especially as that young buck over there is going to marry the daughter of Lord Cavendish, Member of parliament. Old money, respected. A man like that is never going to let Matthew marry his daughter if he thinks he fucks anything that moves."

Her eyes flicker to the tuxedoed form in question. Dread settling.

"So yeah. It really will matter if he is caught being a naughty boy. Especially if you add morphine... Not even the toffs can stomach an addict. As for the army, they don't like their doped officers exposed in the press."

Her eyes shoot to him.

"Don't look at me like you've never used it... I live with you remember." He brushes cigar ash off his trousers. She watches it fall, ash breaking apart into dust. She looks away.

His voice dips. "It's already at the room... good stuff too. No expense spared. "

She nearly chokes on the cocktail as it slides down her throat. She places the glass down. Clenching her hands in her lap. "For gods sake. Am I supposed to force it on him?"

He looks across. "Patrick as always has done his homework... Matthew likes to try new things. Given the right persuasion he isn't going to say no... and we all know how persuasive you can be when you want to."

"Christ." She takes out a cigarette, not surprised her hand is trembling. He's already offering a light. She leans forward, drawing, until lit. She smokes, until her hand stops shaking. He doesn't say anything. Finally she looks at him. "What exactly does my father want?"

He sighs. "Photographs... Wonderful invention the camera. Makes things so much easier to prove... We go to his father, threaten to disclose his son. Matthew never has to know... But we make sure daddy knows if he doesn't do what Doyle wants, we expose it all. And if we do Matthew will lose his commission, his bride to be... and I'm pretty sure he'd blow his brains out to save his father from the disgrace of it all. British toffs are strange like that, ruin their name and the rest really doesn't matter."

She flinches. Her eyes slamming shut. Voice a hiss of disgust. "You don't need me for this." Her eyes open, hazel flaming. "Hirer a whore."

He scoffs. "Right, because all whores can't be brought off. Or simply disappear when daddy finds out." He shifts closer. She leans back from him. But he takes no notice. "You know how this works, Maura. It works because of you. Yeah, maybe I could get a whore to get him into bed, even take the drugs. But this is where you're the champ of it all."

She almost spits in his face. "You _disgust_ me."

He shrugs. Taking the glass off the tray the waiter brings. "Stop being so sensitive. I didn't mean the fucking... although from what I remember..." His eyes travel down her form.

"Be careful. Garret." She sounds exactly like her father.

His eyes jump up. He'd heard it too. "I meant... You can't be scared off." He adjusts his bow tie nervously. "You're not just going to up and disappear when Travis threatens you. You're a woman that isn't going to be brought off. You have the stature to get Lord Cavendish to listen about the evil his daughter is going to marry... You think he'd believe a whore? Travis is going to realise that what we threaten will happen, unless he becomes Paddy's new best friend... Then we can get the fuck out of here and go home." He sits back, drinking a long gulp of whiskey.

Her heart is beating so fast she feels faint. Knowing everything Garret is saying is true. Her eyes flicker to Matthew again. "And if I don't seduce him? What are your other options?"

His face hardens. "One's you really don't want to know... So I'd advise not failing. Come on. I'll introduce you."

She doesn't move. "No."

He sits back down, pulling his chair around to face her. "You know what else was in the telegram?"

She just stares at him. Defiant. She will not fall to this level, she will not do this again. Her father can go to hell. She ignores his closeness, standing, reaching back for her purse.

"Ian Faulkner."

Her whole body freezes.

"Yeah. Thought that would get your attention."

She deflates, legs bending, sitting again. "It's over. It never had anything to do with you."

"Like I care who you fuck."

Her snap back is instant. Trying to hide the panic surging. "Then why care?"

"I'm don't. I'm just telling you what Patrick put in the telegraph. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why, Maura. We both know how he operates... You should know better than to give him something he can use over you... Look, neither of us have choices. We sold our soul to the devil a long ago... I've fixed everything in this god forsaken place. The goods, transportation, the police commissioner, the damn warlords and Tsu langs rebels... I've spent more of Paddy's money than I ever have before. Set up protection here... But it means nothing unless I get Travis to look the other way when the cargo goes out. He's the last link."

Her gaze goes to the young man laughing. Her voice trembling. "He's just a boy."

"Yeah. One who's father will do anything to protect." His eyes return to her. "... and we both know what a protective father will do..."

She sucks in air, eyes dropping.

"Look, we're going to hell anyway. You want Faulkner there as well? Because we both know your father can send him."

She was a fool to think Ian would be safe. A touch to her hand, makes her look up. Seeing the same agony in Garrets eyes of what they have really become.

His voice is soft. "You know if you do this. He won't use Faulkner against you again. He'll be safe."

Yes, she does know. Because this is how it works. Her father finds a weakness and uses it. Knowing it brings a macabre kind of trust. She makes a mistake, she'll pay for it only once. A greater control over her. Because it leaves the responsibility of it on her own actions. The moment she continued to bed Ian, form an attachment, it was inevitable she'd be paying for it. "Did you tell him?"

"No. I knew you were seeing someone, but I didn't care. I have my distraction, you have yours. Patrick probably had you followed."

She shakes her head. "I was careful."

He shrugs. "Then someone saw you and told him. What does it matter how."

He's right, it doesn't. "Can't you find another way?" She's never begged him for anything. But right now her eyes bleed with it.

He jolts in surprise. She holds his gaze. "Damn it, Maura." his voice lowers, a hand wiping down his face. "The other options is to take him, hold him until Travis gives in. If he doesn't then we use the boy to persuade him."

She swallows hard. She's seen first hand what that means. "God." She looks across to Matthew, head thrown back in a laugh. So young, so alive.

"Do this and you save both of them."

Her head snaps around. Face hardening. "Don't try and manipulate me. I know exactly what this is and it is nothing noble."

He holds up his hands, sitting back. "Fine. Let Faulkner rot, and the boy hang. You can be the one to tell Patrick to go to hell." He exhales.

She's tempted, so tempted to do just that. Get away once and for all.

"How long do you think you'd last?"

He could always read her. "I'd survive."

He laughs, but it's not amused. "Yeah, maybe you could. But you'd spend your whole life looking over your shoulder for him... You don't have it so bad, Maura."

She glares.

"What? You got fancy clothes, jewels. A house to kill for. You do all that charity crap. He leaves you mostly alone."

She scoffs. "You mean until I give him something he can use against me."

He sighs. "I've never understood how your father can use you at all. Anyone does or says anything against you he makes sure they don't again. Family means everything to him. Yet he treats you like shit."

His voice sounds like the boy she'd married. Long before either of them had seen the darkness of Patrick Doyle's true world. She blinks, his face changing back to the man, twenty-nine-years old and he looks decayed, evidence of years of doing things such as this. Her decay is on the inside eating her away like a cancer. Garret is as trapped as she is. But unlike him she still has a small part left that gives a damn about others. She isn't ready yet to escape her father on the blood of innocents. She hates herself, because she is going to do this repulsive deed. She will never again give her father another reason to use against her. No more Ian's, no more anything. From now on, she is alone.

She straightens, lifting his whiskey glass, downing the half still left. The burn of it not even touching the ice in her throat. Ice that is spreading through her on each breath as she pushes everything she feels away. Emotionless, she stands, smoothing down her dress.

Garrets expression is just as resigned to this as she is. He stands, placing her fur stole over her shoulders. Taking a hotel key from his jacket pocket. "The cars outside waiting... Keyntx Street. Room 12."

She doesn't bother acknowledging the information, just takes the key and places it in her purse. The click of it shutting, a tomb closing.

He offers his arm. She loops hers through it. Walking towards the far corner tables. "Do you really want to know why my father does this to me?"

He looks at her in surprise. "I've asked before but you've never told me."

Her face is blank, all except for the fake smile she is aiming at the turning faces seated at the table they are nearing. Her words are whispered. "Thirteen years ago, I was responsible for my brother Colins death."

She doesn't miss a step as he stumbles. Pulling him straight as they continue walking. Her voice is detached, empty. "Now can we please get this dreadful business over with."

Garret is staring with wide shocked eyes. But it's Matthew who is her only focus and his eyes are already locked on her.

This time her smile is seduction.

* * *

TBC

A/N.

I would just like to say, there are certain words within this story. Ones today are now recognized and rightfully so, as racist terms. I in no-way agree with these words, and I am not a racist. Nor do I condone the use of these words then or now. However this story is set in a time-line where they were used in reference to cast and levels of society.

If reading these terms upsets, I apologise. I use only for authenticity of the language of the time and where necessary. I will not just be throwing them around.

* * *

As always thank you so much for the reviews. They really do make a difference, to know people are enjoying or not. It gives me a focus to write. But most of all thank you for taking a chance on reading this, I know it is not every ones cup of tea. I also send out a silent '_thank you_' to all those silent lurker readers from all over the world. It just blows me away someone in Singapore read this. :)

To the guest reviews I can't personally thank you in pm, so I thank you all here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning** This is a very dark chapter.

For disclaimer see Chapter one.

* * *

蜂鳥

Chapter Three

.

Her skin is scrubbed an angry red. But still she feels dirty. The bathwater is cold, yet lava. She sits, drawn up, folded in, hugging her legs. Staring at the water, the ripples so pretty, grey, blue, red. Her skin is raw, insides raw. Her attention shifts to the needle mark on her arm. She picks at it, razors in her veins. Her mind is rainbows…... She picks at the mark again, nail digging, red line trickling down into blue.

''Monkey see, monkey do... Oh and the little monkey did do.'' She snorts, stretching out, laying back, the water covering. Hazy gaze fixed on the Chinese carvings surrounding the bath. Eyes fixating on two... A frog and a Crane... Brain giggling. Her voice is sing song. '' ... The deed is done, the frog said. It is...The Crane replied. Oh yes, says frog with widen eyes, I fucked the young prince until he cried.''

She giggles, cries, breathing hitching with it. Everything hums, a sound within, without. She knows what it is, knows this feeling, no feeling, all feeling. This is a place where there is no care, nothing but this warmth, this hum. The water a blanket, comforting, suffocating. She inhales sharply, the hum stuttering. Her mind is full, spilling, memories... Yellow flowers, jumping rope... Childish things where love was honey... Sweet, so sweet... Weeping willows... The smell of mother, the laugh of brother...

Blood...

She gasps, eyes opening. Unfolding her body, rising from the water. Swaying, hand going to the wall to steady as she steps out. Everything is spinning now... She shakes her head, water raining pins onto the skin. She shivers, collapsing onto the toilet seat. She exhales air so hard her hair dances. She shoves it back off her face, missing, repeating until it's done. She exhales again, reaching for the long clay pipe resting on the glass opium bowl, small flame at its base flickering enough to hold her attention. Staring at the shapes, hissing snakes. She can still think... She doesn't want to think... She wants the buzzing silence, the all consuming hum... She sucks the pipe, embers flaring, drawing in the sweet smoke until her lungs burn, coughing as she chokes. Eyelids fluttering as the drug sweeps through, a warm wash of sea. Buzzing bees... She hums with them... She's floating away.

_''What did you do? What did you do?''_

Her eyes flutter open, head turning, left, right. Spotting the spider on the corner. She hiccups, shifting closer, until she is above. Taking another long draw from the pipe, smoke uncurling as she speaks over its body, rippling hairs. ''I did what I had to do.''

_''Tsk tsk. Poor prince, poor prince broke him. You're going to hell. Hell.. hell.''_ Spider voice is mocking, mocking. Needles on her skin, needles in her mind. It scurries away. _''Poor girl. Poor girl... Going to hell... going to hell... lickyty split split split...''_

She laughs, watching as it disappears down a hole. She wonders if she'd fit? No. she doesn't fit anywhere. She shakes her head so hard she stumbles. She pushes back to sit. The boy, the poor boy... he was so sweet, so, so shiny new. His skin was fairy dust. His kisses butterflies... She can feel him, within, without... His words, his breath... So beautiful. His eye's were love... She jerks, the thought a blow, stinging her skin.

She doesn't' want to feel him... Doesn't want to feel what she's done... it hurts, it aches. Splinters in her heart. She never thought she'd be capable of this, not this... She sucks on the pipe again, filling everything inside with the heat, sucking until her cheeks hollow. Tears spill as the harshness rips her whole being apart. Skin splitting. Lungs spasm.

The frog laughs, the Crane laughs and then they scream. _''Hell... hell... hell.''_

''NO!''

The laughter echoes in her mind. She did the right thing... Ian... Save him. Everything she touches, everything she needs... It breaks... Colin... Beautiful, laughing, always the knight. He saved her... Blood, so much blood.. and now she pays... She will always pay. The cry comes from within, deep, escaping, surging up. She sucks on the pipe, sucks until she can't breath. The world turns inside out... Her body convulses, pipe slipping from her fingers, clay shattering.

The frog giggles, the Crane roars, shifting wings of shadows.

She grabs her head. ''SHUT UP! SHUT UP!''

Everything spins. The walls weep red. Volcano erupting, lights, heat... It fills her stomach, rising upwards, spilling. She gags, slipping to the floor, knees impacting. Quickly lifting the toilet lid as it spews from her, vomiting brown. Coughing as she retches, body shuddering with the force. Sobs escape, caught in the bile of her life. It continues till there is nothing, empty, she is empty...

She falls backwards to the floor, wet flesh impacting, sprawled... Devinci's man.

_''Hell... hell... hell.'' They cackle, fighting.  
_

She is Prometheus on the rock. pecked, split, exposed. Lips move. ''I... am... in... hell.''

The devil has her fathers face.

Her mind screams... Swirling downward... downward... into the black abyss.

* * *

A/N.

I know, poor Maura. Trust the bard.

Yes, Jane is in this story. Patience dear ones, patience.


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you all for reviews and p.m.s. I'm amazed at how much you all like this and taken it into your hearts. x

For Disclaimer see Chapter one.

* * *

Chapter Four.

蜂鳥

She braces her arms on the wooden railing and takes a long breath. The smells of Shanghai fading, replaced with the fresh scent of the countryside; sweet, green. She stares down over the edge at the ripples caused by the steamer cutting through the river. The water murky blue greens, churned into a dirty brown. It's how she feels, like the sediment inside has reached the surface, leaving her skin sticky. She knots her fingers together, turning her head towards the breeze. Leaning out a little more, the forward motion increasing the wind on her face. She relaxes, gaze taking in the vast Yangtze river. Birds flying over head, a fishing boat not far from shore throwing out nets. It would be tranquil if not for the constant _chug chug_ of engine and the noise of water rushing over the wheeled paddle blades at the stern.

She pulls the light cardigan closer. It isn't cold, in fact the weather has turned so humid, skin constantly pricks with perspiration. The cool breeze is a welcome distraction from it. No, she's not cold, but she still shivers. She looks around, surprised to find Garrett is nowhere in sight.

Two days ago he'd found her sprawled, sobbing, so out of it she'd nearly choked on her own vomit. He'd called a discreet doctor and for twelve hours she was lost to the world and his silent vigil. When she had woken, he didn't say anything, but she could see the fear sparking his eyes. The following days he never went far. It was a comfort and an annoyance. Every time he looked at her, it was as if he expected her to break. What he didn't understand was she already had. This is what is left, something she doesn't recognise. It's taking all that she is to knit the parts together enough to just breathe.

She pushes tendrils of blown hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Folding her arms, shivering again. Gaze looking out, but seeing nothing. She isn't sure if she meant to kill herself. All she does know is the whole filthy deed had destroyed whatever innocence she had left. Garrett had informed her Matthew left for England no worse for wear. He'd meant it kindly, but it still made her want to disappear in the oblivion of drugs again. Because it still wasn't finished... This is why they are here, on the steamer heading upriver. Deliver the evidence of the whole horrid thing and the ultimatum. She wants it over, done. Until it is, she can't deal with the emotions raging.

She clenches her hands together, the tremors running through the muscles making them cramp. She knows the drugs are the cause, withdrawal. She's never had a reaction like this, but she'd never taken so much before either. The times she's used have been in similar circumstances, to forget, escape, just enough to blur the lines of reality. But never such a high dosage, followed by opium. Maybe she had been trying to end it. All she knew was when she did wake up, she wished she hadn't. She questions if she really has reached the point where life means nothing at all. What worries her more, is the urge to find oblivion again, disappear completely.

''Hey.''

She doesn't turn at his voice. ''Hey.'' There is a gentleness between them now. One she doesn't remember them ever having, even at the beginning.

He steps closer, looking out over the river, just as she is. ''How... How are you feeling?''

''I'm fine... I just needed some air.''

''Yeah. Cabin is pretty stuffy. Damn small too.''

She takes a long breath. ''Considering the alternative. I wouldn't complain about the accommodation.'' Her eyes flicker to the steel chain fence across the end of the deck, segregating the whites from any orientals. Beyond it rows of hammocks and sleep rolls; Chinese children laughing and playing. She estimates at least twenty are cramped into the cabin space they have.

He looks away from it. ''At least it's only for a few days. Most of them leave at Nangking. The rest of the way up river will be just whites. I didn't know when I booked, we'd have to share space with them.''

She grits her teeth. ''I wasn't the one complaining. You've become quite spoilt, Garret.'' Her voice is cutting and she really didn't mean it to be. She looks to him in apology.

He's already stepping back. ''Well, as you're feeling well enough to be snarky. I'll go find something to amuse me.''

She doesn't bother answering, letting him sulk away. She shakes her head, annoyed she feels guilt. It was much simpler when they just shared space. She's finding it hard to adjust to something else. Her gaze gets lost in the river, the sky, tranquillity of view. But within she can feel the fractures in the tapestry of her being. Threads unravelling, leaving holes, like a thousand moths are nibbling. She scratches at her arm, nails leaving furrows like ploughed fields across the white of skin.

She blinks as she hears a young voice calling, the sound breaking into her silence. Turning her head to investigate the cause. Finding a young Chinese girl pressed up against the chain fence, fingers wiggling through the links, toothless smile aimed. She doesn't realise she moved, until she is crouched, smiling back. ''Hello.''

The girl giggles, speaking again, Chinese quick, lyrical.

She tries to pick out a word she knows. She gives up, shaking her head, pointing to herself. ''Maura.''

The girl chirps words, ending in a smile, fingers wiggling again. She smiles back, catching the little fingers, laughing as they tickle her hand. ''I. Don't. Understand.''

''She's asking if you're Kwan Yin.''

She startles so much so she has to grab the fencing to not fall backwards. Head turning to the gravely voice behind. Her eyes level with khaki trousers, upward over a black shirt. Startling again to find it is a woman with dark hair and deep brown eyes. All she can do is stare. Fingers wiggling against her palm, brings her attention back to the child. ''Kw... Kwan Yin?''

The woman moves closer, hunching down. She resists the urge to create distance between them. But her curiosity out weighs the need. She listens and watches as the woman converses with the girl. Her eyes shift, taking in the form beside her. She can tell the woman is white, but the skin is dark olive, both with heritage and exposer to the sun. Mid twenties? The tight plaited pigtail tells of an oriental connection, also the dialect being spoken is fluent. She doesn't realise the talking has stopped until she finds two sets of eyes watching. Caught, she blushes. Looking back to the child. Fully aware she is the one now being studied by the woman. She clears her throat. ''What did she say?''

''She said... she saw you in a picture. So you must be Kwan Yin.''

''I'm sorry. I don't know who that is?'' She looks to both in question.

''Well, I guess the translation is kinda near a description of an angel.''

''I see.'' She looks away from the amused gaze. ''But why?''

The woman smiles, attention quickly back to the girl. Chinese is exchanged. The woman smiles wider, dimples appearing. ''She said you glowed...When you were standing by the railing. The sun on your hair... I doubt she's seen hair your colour before.''

Self consciously she fingers the edges of her hair. Unlike most, she has never dyed it. She takes a breath, her insides shivering. She is anything but an angel and right now even being compared to one makes her feel a deep seated worm of guilt, awakening too much. Her eyes shift to the child again. She points to herself. ''Maura.'' Shaking her head. ''No... Kwan Yin. I'm sorry.''

The little girl looks crestfallen, questions aimed at the dark haired one. The woman shakes her head, then suddenly barks a laugh.

She jolts, eyes going to the woman. It has been a long time since she heard a genuine laugh. Her brows furrow in question. ''What did she say?''

''She is sad you are not Kwan Yin. Her stomach flop like fish... and would have asked Kwan Yin to take the fish back to the river.''

''Oh.'' She puts a hand to her mouth to hide her amusement. ''Seasick?''

''I expect so. Yes.''

She smiles at the girl. ''I'm not Kwan Yin. But I can help with her fish.'' She stands, turning. ''I'll be back in a moment.'' The woman suddenly appears right in front of her, she stumbles a step back in surprise. ''What are you doing?''

''That's not a good idea.''

''Excuse me?'' She's suddenly aware of how tall this woman is, how intimidating. She takes another step back.

Seeing it, the woman's face softens. ''You were going to get some sort of medicine to help. Right?''

''Yes.''

''Not a good idea. Most of them don't trust western medicine and if the girl gets ill because of it, there will be hell to pay.''

She takes a breath. ''It's just bicarbonate soda... She won't get ill.''

The woman shrugs. ''Probably. But they still won't let you give it to her.''

Annoyance and disbelief flare. ''So I am supposed to do nothing, just because you say so?''

The woman stiffens. ''It's not just because I say so...''

She straightens. ''This is ridiculous. It's a simple cure for what she has.''

Dark eyes flare. ''It may be ridiculous to you!. But not to them.'' Teeth are clenched. ''You lot just come here thinking you can do what you want. That is what is ridiculous.''

It's a red mist in front of her eyes. ''How dare you!''

The woman laughs. Pointing to herself. ''How dare I? This is their country... Respect it.''

''All I'm trying to do is help.'' She refuses to back away as the woman steps forward into her space.

''No. All you're trying to do is solve something that really isn't any of your business. Your kind really have to learn to stop interfering.''

The anger is stirring upward, she takes a step forward. ''My kind? Who do you think you are, talking to me in this way?''

The woman in front of her is defiant, shoulders squared, jaw tense. ''I'm just someone who sees every day, how arrogant people like you are... Thinking they can just come into someone else's country and pretty much do whatever the hell they want.''

She doesn't even bother to hold back this time. It's instant, the anger. A flame across her cheeks. ''You! Do not know me!''

''No, I don't!'' A finger is pointed over her shoulder. ''But I do know them! I care enough to give a shit about their beliefs.''

She turns her head, seeing all the Chinese staring at this display they are putting on. She looks back to the woman. ''''And you think I don't?''

A shrug is the answer. ''In my experience and theirs. The rich don't really give a damn.''

She wants to argue the point, but she really can't. She has seen first hand what this woman is talking about. She looks away. Anger receding like a tide. Leaving her trembling. Hands clenching together. She is defeated in this argument.

The voice is soft. ''It's just the motion of the boat. She'll get over it. There's no need to get so bent out of shape about it.''

She at least can acknowledge this for what it is... an olive branch. She takes a breath. Fully aware her reactions have little to do with the situation and more to do with the state her emotions are in. She takes another deeper breath. Guiltily she looks back to the tiny figure. The girls eyes are wide, signs of fear. ''I am not trying to harm her.'' Her gaze goes back to the woman. ''We are not all the same. Some do care. I care.''

The woman exhales, shoulders relaxing. ''I know that. But they don't... and no amount of me explaining it, is going to get them to trust you enough to give any kind of medication.''

She sighs heavily. Torn between doing what she knows will help and respecting a culture.

''I know this is hard. Believe me I know. I've been on this river for five years and they still don't fully trust me.''

She hears what the woman is saying and on some level she totally agrees with it. She looks to the girl. The other faces watching. Didn't she feel exactly the same when she saw how some were treated in Shanghai? Her eyes dip to the girl, the sadness, the fact she is seasick. Suddenly remembering, she opens her purse searching, taking out the hard round candy. ''Will she accept this?''

''What is it?'' The tone is curious

''Ginger, Sugar, nothing more. Ginger is very good for settling an upset stomach. The extract is used quite regularly in Chinese medicine. They call it Gan Jiang.''

Amusement is dancing in dark eyes. She bristles, going to place the candy back. A firm hand grabs her wrist. She freezes, eyes shooting up.

''Just... just wait... I'll ask.''

The hand is gone before she can even register. She takes a deep breath, controlling her urge to flee. Calming herself enough to turn around and watch as the woman calls out, speaking over the child to a group at the back. The elder of the group stands, coming closer. Eyes darting in suspicion, until his attention fixes on the woman speaking.

She just listens, looking back and forth trying to read expressions. When the elder looks her up and down and glares. She fixes a smile, offering out the candy. ''Gan jiang.'' She is sure her pronunciation is appalling.

He looks to the candy in disgust, until his attention dips to the little girl who is tugging on his shirt tails. She recognizes 'Kwan yin' between the uttered words. She watches as the elders face softens, a smile forming, before returning a steel gaze to her. She keeps the smile on her face, even though his look is unnerving. He scoffs a few words, nodding, waving a hand of dismissal, turning away.

She swallows hard. ''Is that good or bad?''

A chuckle.''Definitely good... I guess you look enough like Kwan Yin... You can give it to her.''

She kneels again, smiling, offering over the candy. ''Tell her to suck it slowly.''

The taller woman does so.

The girl takes it, shoving in her mouth, eyes lighting up at the taste. Chirping words again, before turning running back towards the group. She watches until the girl is out of sight. Rising, brushing off her hands. ''What is her name?''

''Xiu Ying …... It means little flower.''

''How beautiful...'' Her gaze goes back to the woman. ''And you are?''

''Oh, yeah, sorry... Jane...Jane, Rizzoli.'' A hand is wiped down a leg before being offered over, along with a full smile.

She shakes it briefly. ''Maura Fairfield...'' She pauses. ''Rizzoli? Captain Rizzoli?''

Jane gives a sheepish look. ''Yeah. My Pop... He runs the steamer, I run the engine.''

She can't think of anything to say to that. She rubs at her arms as a shiver goes through her. The argument taking the last of her energy. Now there is an awkward silence between them. Her loss of control, has rattled her.

''Hey, you okay?''

The concern makes her focus. ''Yes.''

''Need some ginger? I know someone that has some.''

The teasing tone makes her look up. Studying the tall woman, the open gaze directed. No anger there now, just concern. It makes her uneasy. ''I'll be fine.'' She feels the motion of the boat a little too much. Swallowing, feeling the pin pricks of cold sweat beginning. When Jane takes a step closer, her instinct makes her step right back, until she can feel the heat of the metal bulk head.

The action halts Jane in her tracks. ''You sure you're okay?''

She nods, already moving. ''I... I'm going to go back to the cabin to lie down for a while. The heat...'' Words trail off. All she can hear is the steamer throb of engine, like a heartbeat in her ear, loud. She sways, suddenly feeling the movement of the deck beneath her feet.

''Yeah. It'll get cooler as we head up river... I should go.''

She forces a smile. Stepping away before more questions are asked. Wiping her sweating palms down her skirt. Another wave of nausea makes her clamp her mouth tight. Shivers now over taking her motor control. With one hand to steady on the railing, she makes her way back to the cabin.

By the time she gets within its safety, she is bathed in sweat. She quickly strips out of her clothes, stopping only to throw water on her face and run a wet cloth over her body. Tugging on a linen nightgown, stumbling to the bunk. She makes herself drink the boiled water left out, now it is tepid. But she knows the fluid is needed. As it hits her stomach, it makes her want to go and throw it up, but she continues swallowing until the feeling passes. She replaces the glass.

All she can do is breathe, head bowed, clenching her hands. The tremors shift through her body like waves, no amount of breathing is calming them. The girl, her smile. The innocence of her. Innocence... She is no angel. An image of Matthew flashes. Her eyes slam shut... They open slowly, focus going to the travel case on the shelf. Her head shakes, arguing with herself. Another tremor twists her insides. Another image breaks her resolve.

Standing, she walks to the case, pulling it down, opening. Hands are frenzied as she searches through. Fingertips touch what she needs. Bringing out the leather zip case, she opens it. Staring down at the hypodermic and small glass vials. It would be so easy, so very very easy to make it all go away again. Her breath is huffs, sweat is prickling every pore of her skin. Trembling fingers run along the shaft of the injector.

''Just enough to make it stop.'' It's a whisper of denial.

It comes so easily her next actions. Pull of rubber across upper arm, tight. Fisting of hand, vein stands blue. Slip of steel into flesh, push of plunger. Head goes back, eyelids blinking, flickering the world into colours... Liquid heat. The shivers stop, the tremors calm. She can breathe again.

She is lazy, heavy, lethargic as she returns to the bed. Laying down, bringing the sheet up over, welcoming the coolness. One arm falling across her eyes, blocking the remaining light. She is exhausted both mentally and physically. But there is a deeper pull, warmth of blue, no cares now. Her thoughts soon disappear within the welcome oblivion.

* * *

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer See Chapter One.

The f/f site had a major meltdown yesterday. So if you missed my pm back I did send thank yous to all the new reviews. If you didn't receive I send cookies and extra thank you, here. You are all wonderful.

Also some stated they couldn't find Chapter Four, so I did re upload and hopefully now showing.

Thank you.

* * *

Chapter Five

蜂鳥

When she awakens she has no idea where she is, panic sends her sitting up with a gasp. Heart thumping, bed vibrating. She realises it isn't her heart beat but the vibration of engine beneath. Quickly memories all comes back. She sags, just breathing. Eyes darting to the bunk opposite. Garrett is not there but the crumpled bedding shows he had been. She reaches across uncovering the water jug, pouring a glass, sipping it slowly down. Assessing her body, it feels better than it has in a week. The sleep has done her good. But under it the heaviness of what she'd done. She refuses to think about it. Finishing the drink she replaces the glass, glancing at her watch. She has slept late.

She pulls the sheets back, heat escaping from beneath. Rising, she moves to the small bathroom, taking care of bodily needs. She washes the night sweats away, spraying a mist of rose water over her body. Walking back into the main cabin in a silk robe, running moisturiser over arms and hands, the magnolia scent breaking into the stuffy musk of the interior. Finished, she wipes her hands in a towel, ignoring the fact her gaze keeps shifting to the shelf. She feels fine, no shivers, no internal quakes. She's thirsty but she isn't. She craves... Addiction. Even as she thinks it, she's standing right in front of the case. With a huff of annoyance she turns away. Picking a linen plain dress, stopping when she realises the mark on her arm will be visible. She pulls another dress free, this one with long bellowing silk sleeves. Dressing quickly.

She is fixing her light make-up when the door opens.

''Hey, you're awake. How you feeling?''

She turns her attention back to applying the eye-liner. ''Fine...You could have woken me.''

He shrugs, leaning back against the wall. ''No reason to.'' he shifts nervously. ''I... put away the stuff. Kinda surprised you'd use it again.''

Stiffening, she closes her make-up bag. Taking a tissue to press between her mouth to remove the excess lipstick. ''I only used enough to relax.'' His gaze is disbelieving. She ignores it, turning. ''Don't start babysitting me, Garrett. I'm fine.'' She sees the flash of hurt. Sighing, she finally looks at him. Knowing she is responsible for the fatigue on his face. ''How much did you sleep?''

''Couple hours. Engine kept me awake. The heat doesn't help... I asked for a better cabin.''

Irritation twitches but she holds it back. ''And?''

''Nothing but this...'' His hand sweeps around in disgust. ''…. Apparently this is first class.'' He scoffs, going to the drawer, opening it and pulling out a packet of cigarettes, refilling his case. Crumbling the packet and throwing it into the bin in the corner.

She dips, slipping on her shoes. Ignoring the urge to snap at his spoilt ways. ''Have I missed breakfast?''

''You're hungry?''

She glances up, hearing the surprise in his voice. She'd actually forgotten she'd barely eaten anything in days. She finishes the last of the buckles, standing up. Smoothing down her dress. ''Yes I am. So? Did I miss it?''

''They're serving it now. Second deck, door at the bottom... But don't expect anything special. The coffee is awful.''

She grabs a shawl and purse, moving passed him. ''I'll make sure to avoid it.'' She pauses, looking back. ''Are you coming?''

''No. I'm going to take a wash... sleep. Nothing else to do until we reach Nitaer this afternoon.''

''You're going ashore?''

He places his jacket on the chair. ''Steamer docks for a few hours. I need to talk to someone. Nothing to do with our business.''

It stills her hand on opening the door. _'our business.'_ She shakes off the feeling it brings. ''Fine. I'll see you later. ''

Closing the door, she moves through the tiny corridor the air stifling. When she steps out onto the deck she sighs in relief. Her head turns to the chain fence, looking for any signs of the girl, disappointed there is none. She lets herself enjoy the coolness of the breeze before turning her attention to where the dining room is. She heads left, a door slightly open. As she nears she can smell the distinctive smell of food. Opening it, she steps enough inside to look around. Cleared tables, chairs, but no sign of food or anyone eating.

A woman steps in from a side door, hands wiping on a dry cloth. ''Hello, there.''

''Hello... Am I too late for breakfast?'' She goes to step out.

''No. no. It's fine, honey. I'm just clearing the last lot.''

She is hesitant. ''I don't want to put you to any trouble.'' Before she can voice anything else the woman is beside her guiding her in.

''Nonsense. It's what I'm here for. Just take a seat... I'm Angela.''

She is guided to a small table, sitting before she even has time to prepare. Voice a stutter. ''Mau...Maura Fairfield...'' She lifts her arms as the table is wiped.

''Oh, lovely name. Where are you from?''

She is trying to answer but another question interrupts as cutlery is placed.

''I don't think you're English... American? Such a beautiful dress.''

''A...'' She looks down at her dress, up again. ''I... Thank you... Yes. I'm American.'' She can only hold on to her purse while Angela prepares the table.

A mat and napkin are added. Her head is turning back and forth trying to keep Angela in sight. But the woman seems to flit everywhere at once. It's actually making her dizzy.

''Wonderful. I've been there.''

She blinks looking up. ''I... Beg your pardon?''

''New York. Lived there with my parents. They emigrated from Italy... Have you been?''

She frowns, confused. ''Italy?''

A laugh. ''No, honey. New York.''

''Oh, Yes, I've visited.'' She stalls in her sentence as Angela disappears back to where she imagines the kitchen must be. All she can do is exhale a breath. Sucking it in again as Angela is back in flurry of motion.

''Now then... What would you like?''

All she can do is stare. ''I...''

''If you don't tell me, I'll just bring a little of everything.''

The smile aimed is warm, genuine. It makes her return a small smile of her own. ''Scrabbled eggs with toast would be good.'' Mindful of Garrett's warning she adds quickly. ''Tea.''

''You sure that's all? I have bacon and sausage. Even smoked kippers. The English seemed to like um.''

Fish in the morning has never seemed right. '''The eggs will be fine. Thank you.''

''Okay then. I'll be back in a bit.''

She gives a nod, watching the woman leave. She exhales, beginning to wonder if everyone on this steamer is full of such energy. Her mind drifts to yesterday and meeting Jane. She pauses, eyes going to the kitchen, the resemblance suddenly hitting. _Mother? Sister?_

''From the look on your face, I'm guessing you've just met my mother for the first time.''

Her head whips towards the entrance door so quickly she actually feels her vertebra crack. Jane is standing, nervously smiling, eyes shifting around. She realises as a gaze fixes on her, she hasn't yet answered. ''Your mother?''

''Yeah.'' A hand is scratched at the back of the neck. ''I'm not supposed to come up until everyone finishes breakfast. No ones usually here this late.''

''I... I slept in.'' She has no idea why she feels the need to explain.

Eyes flick to her again. ''You look better... I mean, better than yesterday. The sleep did you good.''

''It did...Thank you.''

''JANIE!''

She actually jumps, her form leaving the seat almost two inches. Hand going to her chest, head jerking in the direction of the cry. At this rate she is going to need a doctor for the amount of heart palpitation she is getting just over breakfast.

Angela rushes passed towards the door. ''You'll have to come back later.''

''I know.'' Jane flickers an apologetic look before turning.

''Wait.'' Both turn. ''She doesn't have to leave... It wouldn't bother me if she wishes to have her breakfast now.''

They are both still looking at her. Angela in disbelief and Jane with a touch of curiosity.

''If you're sure, Mrs Fairfield?''

''I am.'' She adds a smile. One she really doesn't feel. She is surprised she even suggested it.

Angela scowls at her daughter. Pointing to the far bench table. ''Sit. And don't you go bothering, Mrs Fairfield.''

A muttered grumble is the answer as Jane shoots a tight smile, heading to the table. Angela once again in a rush disappears into the kitchen. Now what on earth does she do? She turns her attention to the patterned napkin, unfurling it and placing it on her lap. The whole time feeling eyes watching. She just starts to relax when the swing door to the kitchen slams open. Angela on her way with a tray. She can only tightly smile as her breakfast is laid out in just the same rush.

''You sure this is all you want, honey?''

''It is. Thank you.'' Her gaze browses over the plate, eyebrow rising. Making a mental note in future to be more specific when ordering. There was enough to feed two.

She begins her breakfast. Her stomach at first rebels, a few swallows of tea and a bite of toast settles it down. So engrossed on the taste she completely forgets Jane is even in the room, until Angela returns and plates are laid in front of her daughter. For a while all there is is the sound of cutlery and breakfast being consumed. Finally having enough, she pushes the half full plate away, sipping now on the tea. Eyes involuntary going to the quiet figure in the corner. Gaze taking in the tall form. The clothing is the same as before, although the shirt is white, sleeves rolled up, very masculine. But now she is really looking, there is very little else masculine about the body contained within. Or the face, defined cheekbones, low full brows, dimpled chin. No sign of make-up, natural complexion. She inhales sharply, realising what she is doing, she looks down, filling her mouth with liquid.

''Xiu Ying, Said the fish has gone back to the river.''

She swallows tea the wrong way as the low voice rumbles. Coughing, looking up. ''I... I'm glad.''

''If you... I mean, if you want to see her. You'll have to do it before the next stop.''

She dabs her mouth with the napkin. ''Neitar?''

''Yeah... Get there at two. If you want to stretch your legs it's a nice village. Won't be stopping again for two days.''

She pauses, unsure. ''I was informed it was best not to leave the steamer.''

''It's safe enough. Get the feeling you can take care of yourself.''

''I can.'' It is a strange feeling, having someone who didn't know her, seeing that fact. She goes back to sipping her tea. Thoughts drifting. Her eyes go back to Jane. ''You run the engine room?'' The surprise in the eyes opposite is equal to her own at asking the question. ''I'm... I mean isn't that unusual?''

''Cos. I'm a woman?''

''Well, yes... and the fact you're so young.'' It blurts out.

A laugh sounds.

''That was extremely rude of me. I should leave you to finish...'' Embarrassed, she goes to stand.

''Stop, sit down. It's fine. Wasn't rude. Just the truth... I've been in engine rooms since I could walk. Now I run one. Doubt you've seen anyone like me before.''

She tilts her head, resitting. ''I've seen women in male occupations before. During the war, it wasn't unusual.''

''Yeah, Pop told me about that. how women took over jobs and things.''

''He was in the war? I ask because I know China had very little to do with it.'' 'The laugh Jane gives is bitter. Confusing her. ''Did I say something amusing?''

A napkin is thrown down, like a gauntlet. ''Is that what they all think?''

''They?'' She inhales sharply, realising what _'They.'_ means. ''I wish you would stop doing that.''

A scoff. ''Never mind.''

''I obviously said something wrong.'' She folds her arms, irritated. ''So, tell me what exactly I said so wrong?''

''The British army took over one hundred thousand Chinese to the front lines. Flaunders, Ypres. You telling me you didn't know that?''

She blinks. ''I wasn't aware of Chinese soldiers taking part. No.''

This time the laugh is disgust. ''They weren't soldiers. Labourers, villagers, farmers. Rounded up. Took um out there to dig the trenches. Promised them they'd be no fighting. Well, they didn't get to fight, just blown to bits and dead.''

All she can do is stare. ''You're…... You're serious.''

Jane leans forward. ''Yeah, I'm serious. Pop. was part of the British army, he saw it... You really didn't know?''

''No. I never heard or read anything about this.'' Her breakfast shifts in her stomach. ''That's awful.''

A snort. ''That's one word for it.''

Her mind shifts through everything she's every heard or read on the war. There is nothing. ''What happened to them?''

''What do you think!''

She flinches. ''There is no need to snap. I am not the one responsible. I knew nothing about any of this.''

Jane shakes her head, sitting back. ''There's a lot kept silent in this country... I suppose I only know because Pop was part of the transportation core. Ferrying back and forth, soldiers, supplies. He knew about it, saw what was left of them when they came back. Some died in the fighting. Thousands died of disease. Not really sure what kind. Pop said a lot of what went on, no one knows about. Guess that's really true.''

She feels sick. ''As far as I know nothing was reported. I'm sure I would have read it if it were.''

Silence is thick. She is still reeling. She glances up, understanding a little more why Jane is so guarded and opinionated around her. She wants to say something, but everything she thinks seems so inadequate.

A fork being placed down, sounds loud. Making her look across again.

Jane sighs. ''Um... About yesterday.''

Her eyes dip to long fingers playing with cutlery. She realises Jane is extremely nervous. ''Yes?''

''I should apologize.''

''Should you?''

Eyes jump up, startled.

She can't help the amused smile. ''From what I remember there really isn't a need for an apology for protecting people you care about... much like you just did.''

''Okay, then.''

She has to bite her lip. _She called me arrogant.'_'However...'' She waits till Jane looks up. ''You can apologize for assuming I am like everyone else in my class and swearing at me yesterday.'' She's pleased by the look of surprise. She places the teacup down... waiting.

A snort echoes. ''You call what I said swearing?''

''You don't?''

Eyes meet. She doesn't look away this time.

''You're right. I apologize for yelling, assuming... and, well, the cussing.''

''You did what!''

This time she doesn't jump as Angela voice echoes off the walls. But she is amused to find Jane does.

''Ma. God.''

''Do not take the lords name in vain. You... you apologize to Mrs Fairfield right now for whatever you did.''

''I have... Wait, how do you now it was my fault! You know what... no. Just no.''

She watches as Jane stands, ducking passed her mother. But Angela is already stepping to intercept.

''Oh, I know it was your fault... Your father has told you about this before. You trying to get him into trouble again?''

''Of course not!''

She finds the exchange interesting. It is so unlike arguments she's had with her father. The dynamic is very different. Although voices are raised there is no real anger involved. Jane is standing ramrod straight, while Angela is all motion, hands, arms sweeping. All of Jane's arrogance and aggressiveness have gone, leaving only a daughter being reprimanded by a parent. She blinks, realising Jane is a lot younger than she first thought. The next words spoken, pull her from her observation.

''You think another complaint is going to help him?''

She clears her throat. ''I won't be complaining.''

Angela sighs. ''I'm sure whatever my daughter did, she really didn't mean it.''

She can see Jane rolling her eyes. ''It's fine... It was a misunderstanding. Tempers just got out of control.''

Angela's snort, has Jane glaring. ''Oh, I bet. Hot headed, that's my daughter!'' A tea towel is whipped backwards with amazing accuracy. Jane yelps.

She has to bite her lip hard. This is very amusing to watch.

''Damn it, ma.'' An arm is rubbed.

''Again with the cussing. Go... Go back to that engine room and take your mouth with you.''

She gives a small smile to Jane as she virtually pushed out the door. Her eyes widen as Angela steps far to close. She leans back.

''I can only apologize for my daughter. I really hope, I mean... She's a good girl, just sometimes she forgets her place.''

She blinks, surprised. _Her place..._ She can't finish the thought because Angela is indeed scared of her complaining and making this a real issue. She sighs... In this dinning room with just of the two of them. It hadn't been Jane who'd forgotten her place it was herself. She stands, lifting her purse, shoulders straightening. ''Please believe there is nothing to take further. Your daughter didn't do anything wrong.''

''Thank you. Mrs Fairfield.''

She hates the fact this tornado of a woman, feisty, passionate. Is suddenly meek, cowered. All because of class. She doesn't deserve gratitude just because she was born into a different level, especially considering who her father is. ''There is no need. Thank you for breakfast.'' She steps quickly out of the dining room.

Her first instinct is to return to the cabin, dissolve into nothing. But she fights it, instead looking for Xiu. Not finding her near the chain fence, she enquires with her basic Chinese, but gets nowhere. In the end she gives up, somewhat saddened. Returning to the cabin, relieved to find Garrett asleep. Glad she doesn't have to make senseless conversation with him. She sorts through her belongings until she finds a book she hasn't read. Ignoring the fact her attention keeps slipping to the leather case and its contents. She leaves the cabin, heading back outside away from the stifling heat within and growing temptation.

She hasn't as yet visited the top deck of the steamer. Pleasantly surprised to find a canopied area with long seated sofas. The high area catching the cool breeze, while the covering offered shade from direct sunlight. Picking a seat which over looked the river, she sits. Placing her sunglasses on and opens the book, fingers trembling as she turns the page.

Breathing calms as she gets lost in the words and unfurling story.

There were other ways to disappear, she just had to keep reminding herself of that.

* * *

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you all for reading and reviews.

For Disclaimer please see chapter one.

* * *

Chapter six.

蜂鳥

She is bored, bored beyond belief. Bored and annoyed she'd let Garrett talk her into this... This being a dinner party on the top deck. The quiet haven she'd discovered that morning was now turned into something incredibly fake. Tables laid with white linen, oil lamps in their centre, silver cutlery, decanters. Chinese lanterns hanging from the canopy frame, swaying light, not enough to illuminate, but bright enough to attract every flying insect within a mile. Gramophone playing the latest jazz, scratchy and echoing. All totally ridiculous considering they're on a steamer in the middle of the Yangtze river. What is more ridiculous is everyone present has dressed for it. Even Garrett is in a white tuxedo jacket, much too heavy a material for the increasing humidity. She resists the urge to go over and tell him 'I told you so.' when she sees him wipe his brow with a handkerchief for the third time. At least she had the common sense to wear a light evening dress. As she looks around at the various passengers present, she gets the feeling she is the only one with any common sense at all. She is also irritated, itchy under the skin, crawling with it. This is only adding to it. She does not want to be here. Not after what happened today...

She turns her back on the party, looking out over the darkness of the river. Ember of cigarette flaring as she draws, eyes fluttering shut. Thoughts drawn away to the day... A shiver runs through her.

/\

_She'd spent the morning reading, falling asleep, lazy, comfortable. Waking up shivering and stomach a mass of cramps. The dream she was having had only added to her wakening state. She'd been drowning, falling through the bottom of the world, hung upside down with Matthew crying for help... People calling, unknowns, dark shady figures... It left her trembling. _

_When she'd regained enough of her senses to understand it was a dream, she realised the steamer had stopped. The voices she'd heard were the people below at the dock side. Everything became too much... She'd left the top deck in a rush. Needing to get away from the light, the noise. Stumbling to the cabin in near panic. No amount of convincing could quell the need for the drug this time. She'd paced, angry, caged, lost. Hating her father, hating herself. She refused to take the needle again. Using one of the packet white powders, a light sedative. She'd freshened up, already beginning to feel the calm within. Knowing if she stayed in the cabin it wouldn't last. She had to get out... She pulled her hair into a bun, tendrils hanging. Dressing quickly, choosing perfect attire for a trip ashore; tan, ankle long skirt, a cream-colored embroidered cotton blouse, low heels. Lifting a parasol to complete the outfit as she passed through the door. _

_Stepping off the gangplank, heat hit like a wave, dry, heavy, no longer cooled by the river. She took in the scene; Chinese workers moved quickly and efficiently to take cargo on and off the steamer, horse drawn carts, loading and unloading. She looked around for any sign of Xiu, disappointed she had missed her final chance to say goodbye. She briefly wondered if she would see Jane. A nudge to her side made her return focus to where she was. Stepping out the way with an apology, to let a dock worker pass. _

_She turned her attention to the village further up the small hillock. Raising the parasol, she started walking, head turning from side to side to take in every thing around. It was hustle and bustle and more than once she had to quickly step out the way of workers. When she reached the top, she looked back. It was a perfect picture, sunlight gleaming off the river, white of steamer proud majestic, mountains and hills the background. She'd always wanted to be able to paint, catch scenes just like this. She'd tried, took classes, but her instructor said she lacked passion, light. She never really knew what he meant until this moment. Nothing in her life could ever match the light she saw here, in the faces, in the beauty around. She turned from the scene, heading towards the small market set up for tourists such as her. Browsing through; buying a scarf that held butterflies on flowers, delicate. Stopping to watch hand carved wooden ornaments being made, craftsmanship exquisite. She politely declined any food or drink offered and just ambled her way around. _

_The heat finally got to her enough to leave the market, finding a tree and shade not far. Leaning against it, fanning her face with a handkerchief, letting her eyes close. A sudden shout and yell made them spring open. Head turning for the cause. Eyes darting to a distant figure running, as it got closer she could see it was a young Chinese man, face red, arms pumping. Eyes following him in curiosity as he weaved in and out of the buildings, running though the market in the direction she was standing. Her gaze jumped, as three horses and riders appeared over the brim of the hill, hooves thundering the earth beneath. More yells sounded, market crowd scattering as the horses bore down, tables over turning. She stepped back, hand tightening on the parasol._

_She turned her head, trying to find the man. Breath catching as another horseman appeared directly in his path. This time they were close enough to make out the light grey uniforms they wore. Chinese was yelled, this she understand enough to mean, 'stop!' The man ignored, ducking under the horse and running flat out._

_She stepped closer to the tree, as the other three horses raged passed, throwing sweat and dirt into the air, momentarily obscuring her view. She coughed, fanning the dust to see, gasping. The man was cornered, corralled in, rounded up. She gasped again, as one of the horsemen swung a rifle, catching the man in the back, sprawling him to the earth with a cry. Rider already reining hard to circle back, hooves barely missing, as the man rolled clear. The other three horsemen drew up, two dismounting, yelling, going forward, grabbing at the man, who was kicking and shouting. He fell silent as blows rained down. _

_The parasol fell from her hand, shock making her numb. Looking around, mouth open. No one was doing anything. some stared, fear radiating as it all unfolded. While others just continued with their work, oblivious. A cry of pain sounded, snapping her attention back, watching aghast as two of the soldiers kicked the fallen figure. She was stepping away from the tree when a hand grabbed her arm spinning her back. She let out a cry, eyes widening. Heartbeat calming as recognition dawned. ''Jane!''_

_''Yeah. Come on.''_

_She was pulled forward, elbow caught. She dug her heels in, feet shuffling in the dirt. ''Stop... No! What are you doing?''_

_''I need to get you back to the steamer.''_

_Another pull jerked her forward, but this time she yanked her arm free. ''They're hurting him... We have to do something.'' She cringed as a cry rang out. Looking to find the man now up, hands bound, rope secured to one of the saddles. Rider already moving pulling the man into a jerk, which sent him to his knees. But the rider didn't stop, dragging the man behind. _

_She felt sick. ''Oh, my God.'' She moved forward. Her arm was grabbed again hard enough to make her wince. She threw a blazing stare. ''Let me go!'' She tried to pull her arm free, but it was held in a vise._

_''We can't do anything. Those are KMT.''_

_''Who?'' All she could do was try make sense of this, watching as the man got up, stumbling, falling._

_''Kuomintang.''_

_She shook her head, trying to turn. This time the yank and grip on her arm sent her off balance. She swung around, pushing back on Jane's chest. 'Will you stop!''._

_''No, I won't stop!... Those are the Chinese national army...We have to go. Now!''_

_A crack like dulled thunder rang out, making both jump. She was pulled fast behind the tree, back impacting on bark enough to make air exhale in a huff and rattle her teeth. Jane's body pressing, close enough to smell sweat and oil. Another crack, no mistaking this time what it was... Gun fire. It sent screams into the air. All she could do was hold on. Her eyes fluttered shut. Memories awakening. Rapid shots rang out now. Both flinching as bark exploded somewhere near._

_She gripped the arms holding her. ''Jane.''_

_''Shit!''_

_She was moving before her brain could even catch up, Jane dragging her into a run. Her legs dipped, heel catching, she felt herself falling, but Jane pulled her up fast. Suddenly it was like a sea of people everywhere, a panicked school of fish, each darting in different directions. One knocked Jane flying, this time it was her that held on and pulled her back. Another shot sent a horse rearing high, squeal of panic echoing, taking off in a gallop, cart behind spilling cargo. _

_They ran faster, breathing harsh, laboured. Her own panic fuelling adrenaline, increasing her run. Shots echoed, both ducking. A grunt of pain from someone close, she didn't have time to see who. Somewhere in the run, they joined hands, locked, a lifeline. Jane stopped so suddenly she ran right into her back, changing direction, jane using her arm to push people out the way._

_She didn't think she could keep this up much longer, her lungs burned. A tug on her hand sent them both into a faster run. They reached the dock... She took a glance back, it was bedlam, people running, horses tearing through the crowd. Soldiers firing, other shots answering. Suddenly she was shoved forward ahead. Stumbling up the gangplank, holding on for dear life as she nearly dipped over the side into the river. She sent a glare back, which was ignored as she was shoved again._

_''Go!''_

_About to argue, her hands were caught from ahead and she was hauled the rest of the way up on board. Ready to issue a curse, she stalled, seeing Captain Rizzoli standing, rifle in hand, ready. _

_He tipped his cap. ''Miss Fairfield. I'd recommend you get to your cabin.''_

_She felt Jane brush passed her. _

_''Pop.''_

_His attention went to his daughter. ''How bad?''_

_''They're rounding up someone.. Think the shooting was rebels. Not sure. It's not good.''_

_He nodded. ''Everyone on board?''_

_Her breath caught. ''Garrett... I mean my husband, He went ashore.''_

_Jane was bent, gulping air. ''Saw him come on board bout quarter hour ago. Why I came looking for you.''_

_She felt the relief. All she could do now was try to breathe.._

_''Janie. Steam up?'' _

_''Yes, Pop. Ready. Jai, is down there, just give the order.'' _

_He nodded, shouldering the rifle. ''Good. Lets get the hell...'' He stuttered, blushing slightly. ''Sorry, ma'am.'' _

_She could have laughed at the absurdity of him apologizing for swearing, while the world was falling a part. She just waved him away.  
_

_He moved closer. ''You really should get below to your husband, ma'am. Be safer.''_

_She nodded. But she was already looking away from his retreating figure. She moved to the side. Trying to see through the still panicked villagers. Making out the horses first, then the soldiers._

_''Don't.''_

_The whispered word so close, turned her head. Seeing dark eyes bleeding emotion, enough to make her heart stutter. _

_A shake of a head added. ''Don't... Just go below.'' It was a plea._

_It was macabre the feeling she had, knowing it was going to be bad. Seeing it in the eyes begging. Yet she still had to look, had to know. The steamer blowing a warning of departure made her jump and break their stare. The gangplank rose, rumble of engines building memento vibrating the deck. Her gaze searched, until she saw... The image sent bile into her throat, hands gripping the wooden railing for support. There distant, like a puppet hanging... the runaway man. She couldn't tear her gaze away, even as the steamer moved off, even as her vision blurred. She wanted to cry, too scream but it was stuck in her chest. Eyes finally dipped, she inhaled sharply, gaze catching something in the water... Her scarf, red butterflies against white, like blood seeping, floating, before slowly sinking below. _

_Her eyes went back to the hillside, now it was no more then a speck of swinging death. She turned, slumping back, hands wiping her face. ''Why?... Why would they do that?'' _

_Jane sighed, shrugging. ''I don't know.''_

_Anger sparked. ''We could have done something!''_

_A shake of a head, a look away of shame. ''No. we couldn't. Whatever he did they wanted him and no amount of talking was going to change that.'' Sad eyes came back to her. ''I'm sorry.''_

_''For him? Or because I saw it!'' She straightened. _

_''Both.'' Jane took a step closer. ''KMT, rule this region. They're the law. If he hadn't run he may have stood a chance. Once the shooting started, he didn't.''_

_She shivers, holding herself. ''You said rebels?''_

_A nod. ''Tsu Suns... They live in the hills. Cause problems for the British and such. The KMT patrol trying to catch them. Some of the villagers help them out of fear... Someone probably told them the rebels were at the village...'' Jane looks around, head dipping before coming back to meet her eyes. ''Only thing I could do was get you safe.'' _

_The anger draws back like a tide, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. Studying Jane's face she can see the same guilt of leaving another person to die. Except this isn't a first for her. She can't meet the troubled gaze. She wonders if life is like this everywhere? The light she'd seen earlier is dimmed by reality that man is always destructive. ''Does this happen often?''_

_''More and more recently... Ever since the KMT got Russia to help them. The Tsu are out gunned, most are starving. Desperation makes them dangerous.'' Jane looks out across the water. ''They never really hit this far south before. Otherwise I wouldn't have told you it was safe to go ashore.''_

_Her eyes come up at the tone. _Guilt_. Jane doesn't have to carry it, not because of her. She takes a hesitant step forward. ''I'm a grown woman. I make my own decisions. You weren't responsible for what happened. You most likely saved my life.'' The blush she sees almost makes her smile. A grumble. A shuffle of feet... does._

_''Maybe.'' Head dips, eyes darting left and right, hands tucking into trouser pockets._

_It's then she realises Jane is shy. This woman who went into danger, with no thought to her own safety, is shy. It softens the heavy weight of what she just witnessed. She reaches out a hand, fingers lightly touching Jane's. ''Thank you.''_

_The smile that spreads across Jane's face, holds such innocence. It stutters the darkness within, a touch of light._

_''Oh. My god. Maura!''_

_Her eyes slip closed, hand dropping. The moment broken. Taking a deep breath as she turns. ''Garrett.''_

_His hands don't know whether to touch or not, he hovers. ''Are you okay? I just heard what happened.''_

_She brushes his hand from her shoulder. ''I'm fine.''_

_''What in the hell were you doing ashore?''_

_She stiffens, locking eyes with him. ''I had as much right to be a shore as you did.''_

_''Christ, Maura. Alone?'' His gaze moves to Jane, face shifting to anger._

_She can see immediately his intent. She steps in front of him. ''It was not her fault. Or any ones. In fact, she saved my life.''_

_His eyes dart to her, then to Jane. Jane, who is standing there expecting this, face emotionless. _

_Garrett sobers, voice a mutter. ''Thank you.''_

_She can see Jane doesn't want any of it. ''Any one would have done it.''_

_''I should give you something.'' His hand goes into his jacket._

_Her eyes widen. Mouth actually falling open at what he is about to do._

_He steps around her, pulling his wallet free. _

_She can see Jane's face harden, taking a step back. ''I don't need payment... '' Angry eyes meet hers. ''I've got work to do.'' _

_She tries to apologize, but Jane is already walking fast away. She swirls around. She wants to slap him. ''What on earth did you think you were doing?''_

_He is staring, having no idea what so ever what he'd just done. ''She saved your life. I just wanted to thank her.''_

_She is livid. ''And how much exactly am I worth?'' His mouth opens, gasping like a fish, face flushing, She is walking away before he can form words. ''I do not believe you. Garrett. I really don't!'' _

_She ignores his calls. _

_As soon as she entered the cabin, she tore her clothes from her body, dumping them in the bin. She wants nothing to remind her of this day, nothing... Entering the bathroom she runs a bath. Needing to get the dirt, the smell off her. Submerging, cool water is her only companion, lost in what had happened, the futility of it. _

_She hadn't known how much time had passed, before Garret worked up enough courage to enter the room. He didn't say anything. Neither did she. When she emerged from the bathroom, he was sat, smoking. Eyes watching, but knowing to stay quiet. The silence was one of the worst they'd every had. _

_Finally she looked at him. ''Do you even realise how much you insulted her by offering money?''_

_She watched his jaw shift. Knowing he was holding back what he really wanted to say. She shook her head, rising. He would never understand, it wasn't worth the argument. ''What time is dinner?''_

_''Seven. They're having a party.''_

_She gawked. ''Are you serious? After what happened today?''_

_He shrugged, rising. ''It's all arranged. Dinner formal. Laid out on the top deck... As for insulting her. It wasn't intended. She did a job, I just wished to reward her.'' _

_''People died today. Doesn't that even get through to you any more?''_

_He paused, looking back. She sees the spark of anger, one she hasn't seen in a very long time. _

_''Really, Maura... Sometimes I think you forget who we are. Who you are... You don't usually get so attached to the natives.'' He enters the bathroom, the door shutting with a resounding slam._

_Her own anger spikes, grabbing the bedside clock, she hurled it with all her might at the closed door. _

./\

''Mrs Fairfield?''

Her eyes spring open, broken from the memory. Turning, gaze taking in the tall approaching form. ''Mr Patterson.''

''You don't seem to be enjoying yourself.''

Her eyes travel over him, resting on the full glass of whiskey in his hand. ''Neither do you.''

His laugh is bitter. ''True... This is more my wife's sort of thing.''

Her eyes go to where he is watching; Mrs Patterson, head thrown back, laughing with Garrett.

He sighs, looking out over the river. ''I'll be happy when we get home.''

She glances back towards Garrett, knowing the look on his face, flirtation. Patterson's wife she notes is a lot younger than her husband.

''Did I hear your husband mention he was involved in trade?''

Her drink pauses a breath near her lips. ''Yes.'' She knows he is waiting for more, but she continues to sip her drink. She is not in the mood for any sort of conversation which revolves around lies.

He shifts nervously, not quite sure whether to stay or go. Before he can ask anything else he stiffens, attention on her now gone, fixed somewhere behind. Glancing over in the direction, she isn't really surprised to find Garrett now far too close to the man's wife.

He takes a drink, jaw tense. ''I heard you were ashore when those damn rebels let loose?''

She nods, not really wanting to talk about this either. It still made her nauseas to think about it.

''They cause havoc. Had two of my best horses stolen last month. About time they caught some of them and dealt some justice.''

She flinches. ''They hung him without a trial... Is that your idea of justice?''

He stares, face showing he is shocked by her tone and words. ''Well, no. Of course not. They had cause, I'm sure.''

''I see.'' She looks away.

He clears his throat. ''You're new here... You haven't seen what they can do. Uncivilized savages.''

This time she glares at him. ''China has been around a lot longer than Britain or America. While your ancestors were still in the dark ages, these uncivilized savages were writing, inventing, studying stars and medicines.'' She steps away, placing her glass down, lifting her shawl and purse from the table. ''If you would excuse me, the air here has suddenly gotten quite stale.''

She doesn't even bother to look back as she makes her way across the top deck towards the stairs. Pausing briefly to look over to Garrett, seeing him step close and whisper something into Mrs Patterson's ear. The look of utter outrage on Mr Patterson face, makes her smirk.

As she takes the steps downward, she thinks they all deserve each other.

* * *

TBC

Before anyone sends a helpful note. vice is spelt vise, or vice


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